


Of Milkshakes and Open Doors

by KillerKueen



Series: Rumbelle Showdown 2019 [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belle and Gold being dorks, Blink and you’ll miss it, F/M, Rumbelle Showdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 16:10:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20696342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKueen/pseuds/KillerKueen
Summary: Bae just wants to live his life. Is that too much to ask for?First round entry for the 2019 Showdown.





	Of Milkshakes and Open Doors

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: books found under couch

“It’s not the source of the Nile, Neal.”

“Like I know what that means,” Neal grumbled, going through the drawers of the side table. When that yielded nothing, he started pulling the cushions from the couch.

“If you’d done your report like you were supposed to, maybe you would.”

Neal rolled his eyes. He pushed the cushions back into place with enough force to scoot the couch back an inch or so.

“It’s not my fault I lost the book.”

“What, did it grow legs and walk away?”

“Maybe!”

His father stood in the doorway, where he was tracking Neal’s search and not actually helping, his fingers now pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Honestly, if I have to pay for one more library book…”

Disgusted, Neal bent so he could thrust his arm into the three inch gap between the pleather and hardwood. His hand collided with something firm and rectangular. With a grunt of triumph, he pulled it out:  _ Leaders of Rivers, the Study of  _ _ Potamology and Limnology. _

“Found it!”

Instead of looking pleased, Gold only rose an eyebrow. “Grab the others then, assuming those haven’t wandered off yet, too.”

Sighing, Neal righted himself from the floor, then passed his father towards where his backpack had been dropped earlier. He zipped it open and took out the other books he’d checked out ( _ Gone with the Wind  _ and  _ Deserts, Deserts, Everywhere!). _

“Here,” Neal said, holding them out.

“And what am I supposed to do with those?” Gold asked, eyebrow still raised and unimpressed.

He stared. “Return them.” He had already torn his room apart looking for the stupid rivers book. There was no way he was about to keep it and risk it running off again.

“That’s what you’re going to do. Right now.”

“But I’m already late meeting Emma!”

“They’re three months overdue, Neal.” Gold gave him a severe look, the kind he’d give to someone trying to bail on the rent. “You’re going to return the books, pay the late fee, and apologize to the librarian.”

“What?”

“Maybe next time you’ll be more conscientious of other people’s belongings.” 

“But—Papa—” Neal stuffed the books back into his bag, frantically trying to appeal to the rigid figure. “It’s a couple of overdue books, not murder.”

“Yes, books that you’ve had for an inappropriate amount of time. Miss French has been kind enough to keep the transactions active instead of marking them lost and charging you to replace them.” He ran a hand down the front of his suit jacket, straightening it. It was a tick he did whenever Miss French was mentioned.

“Besides,” Gold continued, “you’ve kept these books away from people who actually wanted to read them.”

His assigned reading list and geography books?  _ Not likely, _ Neal thought.

But the library was close enough to the diner, and he could put the books through the overnight return slot and just pay the late fee later. It wouldn’t make him  _ that much _ more late, and Miss French was too nice to tattle on him.

“To make sure you do it properly I’m coming with you,” his father said, as if reading his mind.

“ _ What?” _

Considering the matter settled, Gold opened the front door. “Grab your coat.”

It was pointless to argue. When his father made up his mind on something, that was it. Final word given, mic drop done and over with—not that he ever said anything cool enough to be considered a mic drop.

The car ride was sat in sullen silence. His father parked in the small lot, being careful to get his cadillac straight within the lines. With the engine off and parking brake on, he pulled down the visor and adjusted his tie. He ran a hand through his hair, though it already looked neat. He brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder.

“Really?” Neal asked, watching his father straighten his cufflinks.

“What?”

“You know, she might have the day off.”

“Nonsense. Miss French works everyday the library is open.”

“How do you know I was talking about Miss French?”

“There’s only one librarian.”

But there the faintest hint of red on his face, a splotchy blush that felt a little like vindication to Neal. He should have known this was an excuse on his father’s part to talk to the pretty librarian.

Making sure Gold saw him roll his eyes, Neal climbed out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t look back to see if Gold was following, but he was halfway across the parking lot when he heard the car door slam.

The Storybrooke library was okay. It was modest. Fit the town. Neal had always thought that it was really cool that there was a clocktower above it. He was hoping Miss French would be engrossed with reshelving, or doing her taxes, or repainting the ceiling, but luck was not on his side. She was dutifully at the counter, typing something into the computer.

She looked up when he entered, shooting him a warm smile. “Hey, Neal. Enjoying your weekend?”

Miss French was chill; apologizing to her would be easy, because no doubt she wouldn’t be as offended as his father was. Plus she never held his late books against him.

He knew the moment his father entered behind him.

Miss French lit up like a light. Instantaneous, incandescent. The smile she had for Neal wasn’t fake (nothing Miss French did could ever be considered  _ fake _ ), but the way she smiled at Gold was  _ more _ , like for just a moment she forgot there were other people around, like the focal point of her universe could be narrowed down to Gold’s very presence. Like she was just really, really happy to see him.

_ Like a light,  _ Neal thought.  _ How cliche.  _ He’d have to pay more attention to the poetry unit when his class reached it in the spring.

“Miss French,” his father said. “How lovely to see you.”

“You as well, Mr. Gold.” She tugged the swing of her hair behind an ear, her pearl earring peeking out.

Bae didn’t miss how she oh-so-carefully straightened her skirt. How she tugged on the cuff of her sweater.

But there were milkshakes to drink and Emmas to argue with, and Neal could take only so much of his father staring doe-eyed at Miss French as she stared back.

He dropped his overdue books on the counter, only relishing it a little when they both jumped. “I’m here to return these.”

“Yes,” she said, voice high and breathless. “Yes, of course.”

Gold cleared his throat.

She had been reaching for the book on the top, but her attention was back on Gold, completely. Books forgotten.

“Neal,” his father prompted after a moment.

She turned to him, her gaze mellowing. Not in a bad way, but in a  _ I am no longer looking at my source of light _ way.

Neal opened his mouth. “Do you believe in honesty, Miss French?” 

“Neal,” his father warned.

“Of course,” she said, shooting a mollifying smile to his father. “Honesty is very important.”

“Okay, so, for the sake of honesty, these books are late because one of them grew legs and wandered off, and I can’t pay my late fee right now because I need the money to meet up with Emma at the diner. I’m sorry about both these things.”

“Oh, I—understand, don’t—” Confused, but still smiling, she reached for the books again.

“And, because we’re all speaking honestly here, if my father asked you out on a date, would you say yes?”

For a second time, the books stayed where they were on the counter, forgotten. And there they stood, steady and calm, as chaos broke around them.

“Ah?” Miss French’s face had gone a bright tomato red, her mouth open.

“ _ Neal _ ,” his father snapped, advancing. “That is entirely inappropriate.”

Limber and young, and without a cane, Neal easily evaded capture. “And speaking honestly, that is an answer I personally am not invested in. Papa, however, is all ears.” He turned, ready to make his escape, and hoping one of them would use this moment like the open door it was—

—when he ran right into Tiana Rose, her arms full of cookbooks which crashed to the floor.

“Whoops,” Neal said.

He heard Miss French gasp behind him, distraught, and his father snarl something, but he was already well out the door, shouting an apology to Tiana behind him. They knew where he’d be so it wasn’t quite a clean escape, but maybe Miss French would calm Gold down enough and he’d only have to spend the next month being grounded, rather than the rest of his teenage life.

Oh, well. At least he had a story for Emma.


End file.
